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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980945">New Perspective</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visnovely/pseuds/Visnovely'>Visnovely</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Hubernie Week 2020, Some mentions of abuse, With a bit of sadness and violence on the side, hubernie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:28:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visnovely/pseuds/Visnovely</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stop there and let me correct it<br/>I wanna live a life from a new perspective<br/>You come along because I love your face<br/>And I'll admire your expensive taste<br/>And who cares divine intervention<br/>I wanna be praised from a new perspective<br/>NEW PERSPECTIVE - PANIC AT THE DISCO<br/>AKA, my entries for Hubernie Week 2020</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stitches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>STITCHES</p><p>Sewing was easy. Or rather, not at all. It was actually a hard and extremely detailed work that required all of one’s concentration to not make a single mistake that could ruin everything, which made it the perfect distraction. Better than lying on the floor of a dark room counting spots on the ceiling, anyhow. Other people called it boring, but they just didn’t see the flow of it; like in battle, once things really got going, everything was in a trance, and the rest of the world…went away. No bad thoughts, no nightmares, no memories. Just the present and what was in front of you, with no risk of people dying.</p><p>It was exactly because of that that Bernie was able to ignore the cold wind of Faerghus creeping in through the tent, the yells of soldiers outside, and a shirtless Hubert sitting on a bed just a few centimeters away from her, glassy-eyed and bleeding from a cut in his arm almost deep enough to show bone.</p><p>Professor Manuela had suggested it. Linhardt was overworked enough as it was, and he didn’t have the skill to do actual medical treatment instead of relying on healing magic all the time. Bernie, on the other hand, apparently had “steady reflexes” and “good concentration” and “enough knowledge of plants to at least not poison someone to death”. Of course, Bernie protested at first; leaving someone’s life in her hands was absolutely ridiculous, even if she had said she wanted to help out more, but Professor Manuela somehow managed to convince her. “It will be easy, my dear. Just a few treatments for simple injuries, nothing more than that. Get the hand of it and soon enough you’ll be able to do it with your eyes closed.”</p><p>She’d been right. Two days later, and Bernie could do it without thinking. Give a potion, clean the wound, dress the wound, and then done. With the way things had gone at Tailtean, so many people getting off with light (or at least not deadly) injuries had been a miracle. </p><p>“Many people” did not include Hubert. Of course it didn’t. And of course, he had to end up at Bernie’s tent. With her luck, he probably would have ended up there anyway, even if he had not requested her specifically. </p><p>Joining the ingredients in a bowl, Bernie grounded them into a light-purple paste, spreading them into the bandages. Lavandula. She knew that one well; it was the same herb Mother used to give her after Father’s…sessions, and maybe even the same amount. Whenever Bernie took it, she would fall down on the floor and stay there for hours, waiting for the pain to fade and barely aware of anything, so the fact that Hubert was able to even sit on the bed without any support was amazing. He was always amazing, compared to a crybaby like her.</p><p><i>No, this isn’t right. </i> She couldn’t be thinking of him like that, not right now. Right now, he had to be nobody, another nameless, faceless soldier for her to help. Anything else would have ruined her focus. </p><p>Done with the medicine, Bernie approached him, gently pulling the injured arm forward, holding his hand to keep it steady. For someone who wrote all day, Hubert’s skin was surprisingly soft, though thankfully he must have been too tired from the first dose of medicine to notice her blush, with not even flinching as Bernie wiped the blood away with a wet rag.</p><p>Now, for the hard part. </p><p>"I-I’m going to have to sew that up now, so please hold still. It won’t hurt”. No answer. It was the same line she used every time, the first step of her routine. The tip of the needle slowly pierced the skin, just like fabric, and after that, it was all repetition and instinct. Pull the thread, from one end to the other. Tie a knot. Pierce again. Watch the edges. Don’t pull too tight. Don’t tear anything. Pierce again. Pull the thread, from one end to the other.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Usually, hearing Hubert’s voice out of nowhere would have scared her, but Bernie was already in too deep to care “Sorry for what?”</p><p>“Your flower. I ruined it. There’s blood and mud all over it.”</p><p>The needle shook, but just a bit. “Y-you took it with you? To the battle?”</p><p>“Of course. I promised to wear it, did I not? You would have been sad if I hadn’t.”</p><p>Yes, and she hated herself for it. “I wouldn’t. It’s fine.”</p><p>Bernie could hear the smile in his voice. The needle shook again. “You’re a terrible liar. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it, you know.”</p><p>She pulled the thread a bit harder, releasing a grunt of pain from Hubert, followed by a laughter. Strangely, she did not feel guilty about it.</p><p>“Alright, I understand. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Pull the thread, from one end to the other. Tie a knot. Pierce again. Done.</p><p>The salve in the bandages dulled the pain and made the wound heal faster. A few days of the rest and the arm would be fine again, and maybe there wouldn’t even be a scar. </p><p>Slowly, the world came back. The cold wind, the yells of the soldiers, Hubert sitting shirtless at the bed, still holding her hand, pulling her closer.</p><p>“You saved my life.”</p><p>“I- “</p><p>“What sort of <i>idiot</i> jumps onto a charging swordsman’s back and stabs him with an arrow? I came out with a cut, and you could have died. Why didn’t you run? I told you to run, but you <i>stayed</i>.”</p><p>The medicine. The medicine was messing with his head. Hubert never would have been so protective otherwise, or angry, or wrapped his arms around her waist like that. Bernie shouldn’t have payed attention to what he was saying either, or wrapped her own arms around his neck. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I’ll make sure to let you die next time.”</p><p>
  <i>Oh, Bernie. </i>
</p><p>In her defense (not that she deserved any), Hubert also took a while to realize what had happened. Her apology came at the same time as his laughter, and they were <i>so close</i>, he could probably, no, <i>she</i> could probably-</p><p>The wind roared again, much stronger this time. The lavandula bottles all came crashing down, and by the time Linhardt had come running into to check, Bernie was already halfway across the tent, completely breathless. Managing to mutter some random excuse about supply checks, she ran from the tent, glancing at the piles of dirty, bloodied black clothes on the way out.</p><p>She had a new flower to sew.<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so it begins.<br/>(also obligatory "english is not my first language and I wrote this at 6:30 AM, so apologies for any mistakes")</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>FEAR</p><p>“Heights?”</p><p>“Heights.”</p><p>
  <i> “Heights.” </i>
</p><p>“Heights”</p><p>“H- “</p><p>“Say that word one more time and I might just get the slightest feeling that you are mocking me.”</p><p>The question itself had been quite reasonable and ordinary. There was nothing wrong with wanting to know what your spouse was afraid of. In theory. If it were anyone else asking, Hubert would have already been halfway through imagining an assassination attempt, but this wasn’t anyone else. This was his <i> wife</i>, and a good husband did not act paranoid or embarrassed over such a silly thing.</p><p>He hoped so, anyway.</p><p>“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad! It just…wasn’t what I was expecting.”</p><p>He couldn’t help but smile at that. “And dare I ask just <i>what</i> you were expecting?”</p><p> Bernadetta buried her face in his chest, trying (and failing) to hide her embarrassment while muttering something unrecognizable. Honestly, what a pair of fools, the both of them were. Not being able to carry on a simple conversation without derailing it into teasing, panicking or wild assumptions. Hubert could practically hear Dorothea at his side, singing some silly tune about how it was exactly because of that that they fit together so well.</p><p>Maybe it was true, but it was also the reason Hubert struggled. In truth, all he wanted was to be good at this. At marriage. He <i> had </i> to be good at this. Neither of them was skilled at dealing with people, though Bernadetta did much, much better than him in that regard, even if she failed to realize it. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but the panic had never fully subsided. A ridiculous, overwhelming panic of saying the wrong thing, or doing the wrong thing, or not being there enough for the one person he cared for above all others. How was he supposed to <i> know</i>?</p><p>Sighing, he hugged her tighter, wrapping their legs together. As soon as he and Bernadetta had been married, Lady Edelgard had explicitely ordered her to, word for word, “make sure Hubert does not work himself to death without me or Ferdinand around to watch him”, a role which she had taken herself quite strictly to fulfill. Since Hubert still had nightmares from being looked after by Linhardt, and his own limit for work-rest balance was to have enough strength to at least get to a bed before passing out, he had been quite glad to leave it to Bernadetta’s judgement. </p><p>Somehow, she always <i> understood</i>. Whenever his head started to pound too much, or his vision started to blur, there was the soft feeling of a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from the table to lie down for hours in a bed or a couch, talking about nothing in particular. Anyone else would have gotten an earful or worse, but with her, Hubert simply…let it happen. Because of the exhaustion, no doubt, and certainly not because of any sentiments he could not bear to form into words without feeling his face redden.</p><p>He needed to keep the conversation going. Being silent could imply that he was angry at her, but asking about her own fears in return would have also been terrible, since she might take it the wrong way and make some self-depreciating jest about having too many to choose from and – He just needed to keep the conversation going. A good husband needed to manage at least that.</p><p>“In my defense, there is a story behind it.” His fingers brushed over her hair, filling the air with the smell of lavender and berries. “When I was eight, one of the Imperial prin- an acquaintance of mine decided it would be a good to train me as a Pegasus knight. I was actually quite favorable to the idea as well, thought it was less for the fighting than for the view from the sky.”</p><p>Bernadetta shifted slightly to indicate that she was listening, and he continued. “The horse the trainer chose wasn’t exactly the most disciplined. He took off without warning and refused to come down, and by the time it finally happened I had almost strangled it to death by clinging to its neck. You can picture the rest without any more descriptions, I assume.”</p><p>Silence. The rise and fall of her chest were still steady, but that was the only sound in the room. Maybe it would have been better to have kept quiet? Was there something wrong with what he said? Or perhaps Bernadetta had just fallen asleep, and he was simply exaggerating. Perhaps. He hoped.</p><p>Then, it happened. A laughter. A soft one, barely audible, but a laughter nonetheless, and Hubert felt a sudden weight lifting from his chest, thanking every single force responsible for the world that she was not able to see the color of his face.</p><p>“Laughing at my torment? How cold of you.”</p><p>The laughter turned into a full-on giggle, barely allowing Bernadetta to speak. “N-no, it’s just that- “</p><p>“Really, I did not expect such ruthlessness from you, Lady Varley. I must admit I am heartbroken.”</p><p>“You told me to imagine it! So I- “</p><p>“I better keep all my secrets closely guarded, lest you plan to use them for something nefarious. With that mind of yours, who knows for sure what could happen?”</p><p>“Hubert! Stop being mean!”</p><p>They stayed like that for several minutes, until Bernadetta finally had enough breath to speak again. She lifted her head, gently stroking his cheeks with softs hands, and Hubert made a note to himself that playing the fool now and again was worth it to see her like this. Slowly, he was learning. </p><p>“I could try to help you. With the horses, I mean. Not with the heights. You don’t have to learn how to fly, but maybe you can like them again.”</p><p> “Thank you, but I don’t think I would be able to handle it. Besides, I can live with seeing the view from the window, anyway.</p><p>“You could! I mean, not if you don’t want to. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but you could. You’re braver than me.”</p><p>Hubert smiled. “And, for argument’s sake, how would I go about doing that?”</p><p>“Well, you could spend time with the horses. And if you like pretty views, there’s a place Caspar showed me, near the Monastery. We can go have a picnic! Oh, and Shamir taught me something, too: when you’re scared of something, just draw a picture of it and keep shooting it with arrows until you’re not afraid anymore.”</p><p>For just a second, the imagine of Bernadetta relentless covering a portrait of his face with arrows flashed on Hubert’s mind. “Does that method include people, too?</p><p>Her eyes darted sideways, visibly nervous. “Not…to anyone who’s an ally. A-Anyway, forget that! I-It’s just an idea anyway, and you haven’t even said yes, and- “</p><p>He put a finger to her lips, silencing her. “We can worry about that later. Now, what was that about a picnic?”</p><p>Forgetting her anxiety, Bernadetta happily began to describe the place, eyes glistening like a child’s. The more she did, the more Hubert knew for certain that he was going to have to arrange the trip to Monastery now. Because he was a fool who wanted to be a good husband, and he was learning.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>The package was on his desk by the next afternoon. Drawings, dozens of them; some showed just the empty, blue sky, while others had familiar places seen from above, like Enbarr and Garreg Mach. The note attached to the box read as follows:</p><p>
  <i> I hope you like these. They’re not as pretty as the real thing, but I hope they make you happy. Or you can shoot them if you want (but I rather you didn’t). – Bernie </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know if it fits his character, but as soon as I saw his S-Support, I knew I wanted to write something about Hubert being nervous over not knowing how to husband, but still trying his best.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Present</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>PRESENT</p>
<p>From the lowest commoner to the highest king, when asked what the best gift for a woman was, most would answer: flowers. Of course it would be flowers. They were simple and pleasant, even if devoid of any real purpose. Ferdinand had even described them as “a gift that was less about the gift itself and more about showing intention and affection”, whatever that meant.</p>
<p>Most people, Ferdinand included, did not have a wife with an entire greenhouse full of flowers in their back garden, with a preference for the ones with sharp enough teeth to swallow a frog whole.</p>
<p>Hubert liked to think of himself as a man aware of his capabilities. As such, he was able to recognize that openly showing appreciation for other people was a challenge, and that protecting someone and actually being affectionate to them were very different things. Without the proper balance, any relationship, be it friendly or something more, could surely fall apart.</p>
<p>Also, choosing presents for other people was actually pretty difficult.</p>
<p>Of course, he <i>could</i> ask Dorothea for help, or Lady Edelgard, or even Professor Byleth, but he wouldn’t. Because this was <i>Hubert’s job</i>, <i> Hubert’s responsibility</i>, and a foolish weakness that needed to be conquered as soon as possible; certainly it had nothing to do with his pride and dignity being on the line over being married for almost half a year, but still having no idea what his own wife would like for a gift.</p>
<p>There was no occasion for it, or urgency. He had just looked at Bernadetta one day, sitting at her desk, smiling with a nose buried in a book, and thought, <i> It would be nice to see her happy. </i> Simple as that. A perfectly normal, ordinary way of thinking that had it wormed its way into his head, keeping from focusing on anything else and tormenting him at every single moment.</p>
<p>This should have stopped after they had gotten married. It was <i> why</i> they had gotten married. The feeling had just gotten way too intense too ignore, and so, like with anything, Hubert had simply decided to deal with in the quickest and most efficient manner. Granted, the way he had gone about it had been far from the best, as Dorothea was always quick to remind him; an entire day of preparation wasted the moment the time came, and not even a ring to make the situation a little less pathetic. He had almost even <i> stuttered. </i></p>
<p>Thus, this was a chance to make things right. To make them <i> proper</i>. Not that there was anything wrong between him and Bernadetta right now, of course. He hoped. Hubert just needed to work through it, or the feeling was going to drive him insane. This time, he would not make a fool of himself.</p>
<p>       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>He had only gotten past “I’ve got something to give you” before everything had fallen apart in all possible ways (no stutters, though. A small victory).</p>
<p>Not that Bernadetta was making it easier. Five whole minutes later of blushing, stammering and reassurances that yes, this was for her, and no, she had not done anything wrong, and Hubert had already forgotten the entire speech he had prepared in his head. He could only watch as Bernadetta carefully opened the package, examining the item within.</p>
<p>“It’s…a tube?”</p>
<p>“Not quite. Try looking at it from this end, with one of your eyes closed.”</p>
<p>She did as Hubert asked; one look, then two, then three, until there was a loud gasp when she finally realized what it did. Afterwards, Bernadetta was just a blur running around the room like a child, excitedly trying it out at anything she could find. Not that Hubert could tell; he was too busy turning his face away to hide the blush to properly see what was happening. </p>
<p>“This is <i> amazing</i>! Where did you find it?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t find it. Not exactly anyway.” Confused, Bernadetta sat by his side. “Remember the library in Abyss, below the Monastery? There were some blueprints there of items prohibited by the old Church. This one was supposed to be used to spot enemy camps from afar, or just scouting in general. Some Imperial scholars were working on developing them for greater use, and sent me this one as an example. It doesn’t even have a proper name yet.”</p>
<p>Bernadetta examined the object again, fascinated. It was a simple thing, small and made of bronze, and it could only see a few meters away, yet she still seemed so completely awestruck. </p>
<p>“I thought that – Well, I thought you make some use of it. Enjoy it, I mean. If there is anything far away you would like to look at, you can use this to see without having to move. Like for a painting, or for training.” <i>Don’t let her see how nervous you are. Smile</i>. “Or, if you ever get tired of seeing my face, you can just look at it from a distance. I wouldn’t blame you.”</p>
<p>She kissed him.</p>
<p>By the time they broke apart, Hubert could barely remember why he had been nervous. Or what he had been doing at all. “I don’t get tired of looking at your face. A-And if I did, I could just close my eyes and do that instead.”</p>
<p><i> Ah</i>. “Right. Of course. Perfectly reasonable.”</p>
<p>He remembered the speech now, but it didn’t matter. Words were wasted, anyway. Lifting her chin with his fingers, he kissed her, deeper this time, the small bronze tube left forgotten at their side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Big News: Local awkward man is still in love with his wife.<br/>(A shorter one this time, because I spent the entire day napping and beating Cindered Shadows. At least it helped me with an idea for this).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>SHADOW</p>
<p>If any place in Fódlan could be described as coming out straight from a fairytale, it would be Enbarr. White marble buildings that stretched as far as the eye could see, boats of a thousand shapes and sizes floating along the canal, lit candles on every window that glowed like a sea of lights; descriptions did not do it justice. Seeing it all from above, in a hidden alcove of the gardens of the Imperial palace, made it easy to forget the darkness underneath the pretty lights, but Bernadetta figured that, right now, she could forgive herself for a little delusion.</p>
<p>The smell of roses flew with the warm spring wind, filling her head with sweetness. In any other situation, she would have been glad to be alone and surrounded by such pretty blooms, but right now, the smell just made her sick, and the silence just seemed overwhelming. The palace was completely empty this time of night, without even the usual hustle of servants running back and forth; the others were probably already asleep as well. Everyone had drifted back to their rooms after the meeting was done, Bernie included, until her legs had turned around halfway through and led her here, to this place. She’d been sitting for what seemed like hours now, staring at the roses, trying to think of nothing in particular.</p>
<p>Roses were…alright. The red or white ones could be pretty in a vase, but nobles always put too much of them everywhere. The blue ones, made with magic, were much nicer, and the damask roses that sometimes grew near Gronder were Bernie’s favorite. Maybe she could convince Edelgard to plant some here, along with the carnations she liked so much. Lavenders too, for the smell, or anemones for the colors. Petra would want sunflowers, but they would do better in open fields instead of at a walled garden like this one; there could be some in the city, in the flower shops at the wealthy neighborhood. The war had barely hit the capital anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find them</p>
<p>“Trouble sleeping?”</p>
<p>She knew he was there even before he spoke. He didn’t do that anymore, coming out of the dark to scare her when she wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he just stood still, tapping his foot slightly, or making quiet noises to warn her he was there. All part of their routine.</p>
<p>When she did not answer, he moved closer. “I knocked on your door earlier, but no one answered. Caspar said he saw you coming here.”</p>
<p>“I wanted to look at the flowers.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>He’d been working late again. Even without looking at his face, Bernie could tell. That was another part of their routine: running into each by coincidence late at night, Bernie coming back from a walk and him coming back from writing reports or managing supplies. Except this time was not a coincidence; he’d mentioned looking for her, but she preferred not to think about that right now. </p>
<p>“If you would rather be alone, I can leave- “</p>
<p>That snapped her out of her daydreams. “No, it’s okay! You can stay. Sorry, I was just- “<i> Breathe. Everything is alright. </i></p>
<p>“Tired. I understand. Today has been… difficult.”</p>
<p>“…Yeah.”</p>
<p>Slowly, Hubert inched closer to her, taking care to still keep a comfortable distance. The breeze made his hair flow, including that one single strand that always covered his eye. Bernie had often thought about what it would be like to move it with her own hand, to <i> actually</i> get a good look at his face instead of just imagining it. He would probably look even nicer than he did now.</p>
<p>“So, uhm, what did you want to talk about? I-I know I probably shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, so if you’re here to scold me, I understand. I’ll just go back to my room and not bother anyone.”</p>
<p>“I’m not here to scold you, thought the actual topic may not be exactly…. pleasant.” Moving a hand behind his neck, Hubert briefly looked away, struggling to find the words. “It concerns your current position.”</p>
<p>Ah.</p>
<p>Of course. Of course it had to be about this. Bernie knew it from the moment Hubert arrived. She was the only one who still had not decided, after all. The only one who was still causing trouble for everyone.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter that Edelgard had insisted that they take their time to make a decision; all of them had immediately decided to stand by her side again, no questions asked. As for what would happen besides that, everyone already knew: Hubert, Professor Byleth, Yuri and Caspar would stay in Enbarr to help directly with fighting…<i> those people</i>; Petra was returning to Brigid for her coronation, with Constance and Jeritza accompanying her halfway until Nuvelle; Ferdinand and Dorothea were going back to Aegir to organize their wedding; and Linhartd and Lysithea would be going…somewhere. </p>
<p>Everyone knew, except for Bernie.</p>
<p>Hubert inched closer again. He was close enough to put a hand on her shoulder, if he wanted to. She wanted him to.</p>
<p>But he didn’t. Instead, he just asked, in the gentlest tone of voice possible, the question Bernadetta had been avoiding all her life. “What do you want to do?”</p>
<p>Before the war, before everything, she would have answered “to hide away in a hole where I can’t hurt anyone, and where anyone can’t hurt me”. Despite all that had happened, that feeling was still there; it would never fully go away, no matter how many people Bernadetta talked to, or how many hours she was able to spend outside without feeling sick. It would always be a part of her.</p>
<p>“If,” <i> Breathe. Everything is fine. Hubert would never hurt you. </i> “If I decide I don’t want to be a noble anymore, then what happens to my family? To my father?”</p>
<p>Closer again. Bernadetta had never seen Hubert use that tone with anyone besides her before. She didn’t know if it made her feel special or pathetic.</p>
<p>“Well, there are many options. The job of taking care of Varley territory could be assigned to your mother, should she desire it. If not, with her commendable record as a civil servant, she could easily come here to the capital to acquire a job as an official, or to retire. You would be welcome to accompany her, of course. As for your father…”</p>
<p>How long had it been since Bernadetta had last seen her father? Almost six years, now; six long, wonderful years away from him. Mother had been taking care of everything while he was in house arrest, moving between home and Enbarr, which was where she and her daughter had always met each other during the war. But that couldn’t last forever, and Bernadetta knew it. Noble or not, this, <i>he</i>, was still her responsibility.</p>
<p>“Your father stands accused of several things. During his time as Minister of Religion, he accepted bribes, abused his subjects, and participated in active corruption. He rebelled against Her Majesty, threatening to defect to the enemy’s side if he was not allowed to keep his position. These are all severely grave crimes.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Her Majesty and I won’t do anything about this matter without your consent, I can promise you that. Whatever you decide to do, I- <i>We</i> will support you.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>That was Hubert’s nice way of saying “Your father is a horrible man who doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, but if you still want to let him live, we’ll allow it.” The part of her that still knew how to feel anger, that knew what Father had done to her was wrong and that she had not deserved any of it, agreed. Father was a horrible man, and Hubert and Edelgard were just trying to protect her the only way they could. </p>
<p>It would be easy to just let them deal with it. Bernadetta wasn’t like the others; she had never been taught to be a Countess, or whatever the title was now. No one would blame her for running away from that house. Linhartd had talked about becoming a teacher at the Monastery, before he and Lysithea had gotten close; living there didn’t sound like such a bad idea, maybe helping Professor Manuela with her work. Or she could come here, to Enbarr, to stay with Mother and the others. To stay with Hubert. They could have tea together every day instead of having to wait for supply drops, or he could continue to help her with her magic lessons. It would be nice. It would be <i>more</i> than nice.</p>
<p>She just had to choose. </p>
<p>“My father is…a bad person.”</p>
<p>Hubert did not answer.</p>
<p><i>Deep breaths. Just like the Professor taught you.</i> “I don’t want him to die, but he still needs to pay for all the bad things he did. I want to go home, to try and make things better. To help all of you.”</p>
<p>There. It was out.</p>
<p>Hubert sighed. An actual, audible sigh, as if he had been carrying a giant weight. Probably relieved that Bernie had decided not to act like a troublesome child for once in her life. He also seemed…sad, somehow, like he was disappointed she wasn’t staying near him. She would have liked to believe that, though that was probably just her imagination.</p>
<p>“I understand. I will speak to Her Majesty tomorrow, then.”</p>
<p><i>Stop looking at me like that. I know I’m not good enough.</i> “A-And if I get in over my head, or try to hide again, or make too many mistakes, you can just go scare me straight! I’m giving you permission!”</p>
<p>A smile, finally. “Are you sure you want to ask me that? You might come to regret it.”</p>
<p>“I won’t, I promise!”</p>
<p>Hubert laughed. His scariest, most terrifying laugh that used to frighten her so much, but right now just made her feel tranquil. “Then I suppose I will just have to do my best to keep a<i> strict</i> eye on you. It’s a promise.”</p>
<p>“Hubert?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>She hugged him. There was no exact reason for it, it just seemed like the right thing to do. And he didn’t pull away.</p>
<p>
  <i> That’s right, something like this happened a long time ago, too. They were staying in a military camp just outside of the Monastery; Lady Rhea had just turned into a monster that tried to kill everyone, the Empire was at war with the Church, and Bernie did not have a room of her own. Hubert found her sitting on the corner, desperately trying to keep herself together, and told her that her father wasn’t Count Varley anymore, but that Bernie was, that she could be. He’d asked what she wanted to do, or, at least she thought he did; she just remembered the feeling of her legs giving out, something warm wrapping itself around her, and then waking up in a cot next to Dorothea. It was the second time he had helped, and she didn’t even thank him.” </i>
</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>She stayed like that, feeling that familiar warmth, listening to the rise and fall of his breath. “It’s late,” Hubert whispered. “I’ll escort you back.” Bernie nodded, pulling apart but still holding his hands, noticing how the smell of fresh parchment and coffee was much better than the smell of roses.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That was a 999 critical damage hug, BTW.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Taste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>TASTE<br/>
</p>
<p>The inherit knowledge that marriage changed people could not have been more wrong. Being bound to someone, willingly or not, did not guarantee change of any kind, good or bad. At worst, two people could be together but distant, each living oblivious (in some cases, on purpose) to the other’s awfulness.</p>
<p>Hubert and Bernadetta were not normal people, and they knew it. Extraordinary circumstances aside, just the mere fact of being born how, when and where they did made ordinariness impossible to achieve. Things might have been easier in the old world, where they would have been simple objects to be sold, bought and used with no need to ever think for themselves, but everything was different now. Now, they could actually <i> choose</i>, with all the consequences that this entailed.</p>
<p>So, Hubert chose to get used to and appreciate the smell of fresh paint, soil, and Albinean berries; Bernadetta did the same with the smell of old books, chemicals, and cinnamon (coffee still required a bit of effort); Hubert chose to try to take breaks from his work, and to try not to judge people too harshly to their faces; Bernadetta chose to try to stand firm every time a stranger approached, and to try to breathe, focus and listen when others spoke instead of letting the bad thoughts take control all at once.</p>
<p>Not to make it sound easy, of course. Far from it. Though, for two completely abnormal people, it could also have been much worse. Sleeping in the same bed had come quick; other, more…<i>intimate</i> matters, not so much. Like being honest about their feelings instead of letting insecurities fester. Yes, exactly that.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Bernadetta had a solution: when you were uncomfortable or bad at something, you practiced until you got better, and if the something in question happened to be an equally awkward yet equally willing spouse, then the attempts could be much, much more pleasant. A simple, practical, and efficient method all around.</p>
<p>Following such an arrangement, Hubert was slowly able to speak to her without the constant fear of sounding too coldhearted, and to notice her elegant figure and broad shoulders from archery practice without distracting himself (completely) like a fool. Bernadetta was able to talk to him without feeling a like a burden or a nuisance all the time, and to welcome the way his gentle hands brushed over her skin without flashing back to memories better left buried. It could never be perfect; that fear and hesitation would always be there, however small, but they were still determined to try their best. </p>
<p>Maybe other, more ordinary couples found better ways to deal with their own marriage. However, as Hubert had discovered a long time ago, ordinariness was <i> boring.</i> Strange as it sounded, he much preferred them like this: stumbling and stammering, like two blind people attempting to figure the other out by touch. And by some other manners, as well.</p>
<p>All in the name of practice, of course.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies for another short and uninspired one. Stuff came up, and this ended up taking much longer and turning out much more and at the same time somehow much less sexual than I intented. Blame the sweet paninis.<br/>Also, don't worry, Hubie. Nobody here blames you. Archery IS pretty hot.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>FIGHT</p>
<p>Tailtean was hell. There was no other way to describe it.</p>
<p>They should have been more careful. With the Church and the Kingdom’s practically nonexistent spy network, the Archbishop’s instability, and the number of deserters from the Knights of Seiros that grew with each passing year, the Imperial army had decided to focus its information-gathering resources on other threats. Now, surrounded on all sides by demonic beasts, they were paying the price for such carelessness. Thales and Cornelia must have known about the hidden crest stones in Faerghus all along, and kept it a secret as a security measure. This was a trap, and one they had all walked into gladly.</p>
<p>The rain made it hard to see. The Professor and Lady Edelgard must have been up ahead, fighting Rhea and that…<i> monstrous</i> creature; further down there was the cavalry and bulk of the army; giant explosions of fire and dark energy in the distance marked the locations of Dorothea and Lysithea, but that was all Hubert was able to perceive at the moment. He’d been posted at the very back of the Imperial forces, leading the support and ranged units, or at least that was how it was supposed to have gone. When the first soldier transformed, all formation and sense of order ceased to exist for both sides; now, everything was just a mad, brutal rush to take down as many enemies as possible, no matter how.</p>
<p>The demonic beasts were the most obvious danger, but far from the only one. Several times now had Hubert witnessed more than warrior too distracted by the sight of the monsters to notice the enemy soldier approaching, and by then it was too late. It felt like he was holding the line practically by himself now; a lone, exhausted mage was a priority target on any battlefield, especially in an open plain like this, where they could really go all out. They surrounded him, coming in groups of two and threes to strike him down, and the ring of corpses just kept getting bigger and bigger. Good. If the knights focused on him, it would mean the others in the back row were safe.</p>
<p>Hubert could hear Caspar’s voice in the distance. Or rather, he <i>thought</i> he heard an incredibly loud voice over the pounding in his head, and just assumed it was Caspar’s. How strange that he could hear that, but not the screams of the man lying just a few short paces away. The weak Miasma had been all Hubert managed to conjure; the charging horse fell down immediately on the muddy ground, crushing its rider’s leg beneath it. If Hubert were stronger, he would have put the soldier out of his misery, but in that moment, merely standing up proved to be a struggle.</p>
<p> <i>There is nothing more dangerous to a magic-user than magic itself</i>, was the first lesson every mage ever learned; more than one fool had burned themselves to death by overusing too much of their energy or by losing control in the confusion of battle. More than one fool had also done the same on purpose, letting their powers lose in one last blaze of glory as a way to turn the tides. Hubert would have been willing to do it if the situation became too dire, but not right now. Right now, he could still fight, there were people counting on him. He could fight a little longer, pain and exhaustion be damned. </p>
<p>A second rider came running. Hubert fired another Miasma, much weaker than the previous one, but the spell veered too much to the right, missing the knight entirely. He would have impaled Hubert on the spot if not for the arrow that suddenly pierced his neck. Loosening the grip on the lance and reins, he pulled the arrow away in a fit of terror, causing blood to gush over in a torrent; rider and horse collapsed to the ground, and Hubert collapsed as well, feeling his knees giving out. Someone was shaking him by the shoulders, yelling his name.</p>
<p>“-bert! <i>Hubert!</i> Wake up! You have to wake up!”</p>
<p>The shaking stopped, and a for a single moment, the world regained its focus. Bernadetta. What was she doing? She was supposed to be farther back, protecting Linhardt and the other healers, not…wherever here was, with him. Her hair was a mess, and there was a long streak of blood running down her cheek, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. At least he had managed to do his job right.</p>
<p>“Hubert! We have to go!”</p>
<p>“Linhardt- “</p>
<p>“Is safe! They’re all safe! But it’s too dangerous here, we <i>have</i> to go back!”</p>
<p>Pathetic. Hubert was just absolutely <i>pathetic.</i> All that bravado about sacrifice and still having the strength to carry on, only for him to be so useless that someone actually had to leave their post to save him from his own foolishness. Hubert could even laugh at that, and he did, chuckling as Bernadetta did her best to hold them both straight. </p>
<p>They walked slowly across the battlefield, taking care not to slip on the mixture of mud, blood and water. Head turned down, Hubert was only vaguely aware of what was happening around him; the hard feeling of his feet steeping into something that might have a stone, or a corpse covered in armor; the <i>whoosh</i> of a wyvern flying overhead; the warm aftershock of a fire spell. Bernadetta was speaking non-stop, talking to him, to herself, and even swearing a couple of times. What a ridiculous sight they must have made.</p>
<p>“<i>Why</i> are you laughing? This isn’t funny, you know! Bernie’s already dead anyway, once Edelgard finds out I ran off, but at least- Oh, <i>knock it off!</i>” She briefly let go of Hubert to take down an enemy archer in the distance, firing her own bow in one fluid motion before holding on to him again, all in a matter of seconds. “Just a bit longer. We’re almost there.”</p>
<p>Repeating that mantra, Bernadetta kept going, stopping only to take short breaks or to rip out arrows off corpses. When the bright crimson of the Imperial flag was finally in sight, they collapsed on the grass, completely breathless. Hubert’s vision was all dark spots, barely enough to help him crawl towards where Bernadetta had fallen. He wanted to scream at her, to thank her, to scold her. Grabbing her with more force than intended, he was able to get a good look at her face for the second time that night.</p>
<p> She looked…exhausted, but also determined, high off the adrenaline. Hubert had <i>never</i> seen her like this, even in all the other countless battles they had fought together; he was mesmerized, holding on to her tightly as if she was a rare and precious thing that could disappear at any moment.</p>
<p>He should have done better. </p>
<p>It only took a second. Instinct and years of training caught the faint glimmer of the blade in the dark, reflecting the thunder. Not fast enough to dodge it completely, but enough to push Bernadetta out of the way and kick the assassin in the leg, disturbing his balance. Hubert was taller, which gave him an advantage; using his back and arms for impulse, he jumped forward, grabbing the man’s arm. The blade still came down, but lower than its intended spot, sinking itself just below Hubert’s wrist, and the assassin <i>pulled.</i> It slid down Hubert’s arm, tearing apart flesh and muscle, nearly exposing the bone beneath. </p>
<p>The pain was unbearable. Agonizing. And the perfect fuel for a spell. If he could just focus properly, one last Banshee should have done the trick. Instead, all that Hubert could do was scrape and fight, throwing pathetic attempts at punches and kicks like a child playing at war. His own dagger must have fallen somewhere on the battlefield, not that it would have mattered. Hubert was useless in a knife fight, especially against such a skilled opponent who knew all the immediate vital spots to hit instead of simply going for the throat like a brute. </p>
<p>
  <i>Wrists. Stomach. All the spots that you leave open when you cast. Remember what Caspar taught you. He won’t take you prisoner, so he won’t go for your tongue. Mages can still cast without eyes, so your face is not a priority. Cross your arms. Don’t let the blade go low. Try to throw him to the ground. Use your uninjured arm to grab the blade. If you have to die, take the damned fucker down with you. </i>
</p>
<p>An animalistic scream cut the air. Hubert lost his footing and fell at the same time a shape jumped seemingly from nowhere and clung itself to the assassin’s back. Bernadetta was howling, scratching with her nails, flailing her arms like a madwoman in some kind of desperate charge that somehow managed to knock the dagger away. Her bow was gone, but there was still something in her hand. An arrow. She was trying to use it as a weapon, but it was barely sharp enough to make a dent in the enemy’s armor; she either missed the strike entirely, or managed only a few scratches at most.</p>
<p>Hubert tried to scream at her to run. If this were a book, he would have been able to summon one last bout of superhuman strength to call forth his most powerful spell. He didn’t. Helpless, he could only watch as Bernadetta was knocked down to the ground with full force, could only hear her grunts as the assassin kicked her head and ribs while she tried to defend herself. If only she stopped resisting, pretended to be dead, then the enemy would focus his efforts on Hubert, leaving a breach for escape. However, she refused, struggling even harder than before; the more she fought, the stronger the kicks became and it <i>did. Not. Stop.</i></p>
<p>Finally, with one last, loud <i>snap</i>, it was over. Bernadetta stopped moving. Panting and covered in blood, the assassin walked towards Hubert, arms ready to strike…</p>
<p>…And stopped. </p>
<p>The blood dripped slowly, but continuously. The man desperately gripped his necks, arms, back; all the little places where Bernadetta cut him. Vomit spewed from his mouth, and he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and screaming. Bernadetta’s arrow lay broken nearby, a faded black ribbon tied neatly to its end.</p>
<p><i>She’d been so excited to go to Faerghus, even with their most difficult battle ahead. Every day as the army marched, she would run eagerly across the fields, looking for rare plants that prospered in the last days of the cold winter. One in particular, a rose—looking dark-purple bloom seemed to be her favorite, even amongst the other more colorful, more cheerful looking flowers; Hubert had even joked about it, saying that they reminded him of himself, which made her blush. He remembered the way she had always been careful in handling them, delicate gloved hands gently trimming and picking the petals. She had even gifted him some in a small glass bottle, muttering something about him maybe finding them useful. </i> </p>
<p>The assassin lay dead, drowned on his own bile. There was the sound of multiple people running and yelling at the same time, all wearing black tunics. Linhardt was angry, <i>actually angry</i>, screaming about he should not even bother to heal them if they were so determined to die. The familiar hum of magic filled the air, mixing with the rain.</p>
<p>The flowers reminded him of himself. <i>Poisonous</i> flowers. How fitting</p>
<p>He barely had time to laugh about that before the world turned black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The flowers Bernie used were hellebores, also known as winter roses, or Christmas roses. Hellebore poisoning IS a thing, but only when directly ingested, and I couldn't actually find one how long they take to kill someone. Let's just assume Bernie used some crazy alchemical/magical mixture and leave it at that.<br/>Seriously now, I wanted to take some time to thank all the wonderful comments I've been recieving. Quarantine has messed up my schedule, and with college coming back this week, things have been pretty hectic, so I'm sorry I took so long to post and respond to messages. Every comment and kudos is a joy, and a motivation for me to keep doing this thing. Thank you so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>REUNION</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Edelgard had this awkward way of politely asking people to do something she knew they did not want to do. Maybe it was a result of having spent most of her life “surrounded by boot-licking sycophants”, as Hubert put it, and her way of ruling these sycophants was basically “be nice, or I’ll have to come over there”, but her abilities of persuasion could use some improvement. She wasn’t  <i>terrible</i>, just…not the best. It still worked every time, though, mostly because by the end of the conversation, she was already so flustered that it was, as Dorothea had aptly put it, cute.</p>
<p>It started with a sudden change in topic, then a string of arguments murmured in a quick pace, without any pause, as Edelgard’s face gradually reddened: An Imperial representative was needed; the two regions were nearby; anyone else that might have been more appropriate was currently away or busy; it would only take an hour or two at <i>most</i>; this would be the only time; all the most expensive cakes in Enbarr would be hers for years if she just did this one, single thing.</p>
<p>An angry, barked order would have sounded better.</p>
<p>Bernadetta protested, of course. Fighting in a war and going against giant fire-breathing monsters she could handle, but attending a <i>ball</i> was too much! An abuse of goodwill! Hubert had even agreed with her! He hated these things as much as she did, everyone knew it. Edelgard knew it, and yet she still insisted. Begged, actually, or as close as an Emperor could come to begging, which is how you knew she was serious. </p>
<p>So, here they were. At a ball. An informal version of the usual Ethereal Moon one, to “celebrate the staff and people of the Monastery who stayed faithfully by the Empire’s side during the trying times of war” (or, as professors Hanneman and Manuela called it, the yearly repeat of their wedding party), but still a <i>ball</i>. With plenty of people in a single space, <i>talking</i> to each other. And talking to <i>her. </i> </p>
<p>To be fair, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The whole thing was more for Hubert than for Bernie, anyway. He was the all-important Minister, while she was simply (to most people) the Emperor’s weird little friend who had somehow managed to still not set her own territory on fire. Since it was an open reception, there were barely any nobles or high-ranking officials, and thus barely anyone trying to speak to Bernie in an attempt to get close to Edelgard (and thus barely any people for Hubert to glare at and scare away). In an event like this, she was just…window-dressing. An ornament; a pretty, useless ornament, happy to be sitting ignored in the corner.</p>
<p>There were two rules to survive something like this, courtesy of Caspar and Linhardt. The first was simple: eat as little as possible beforehand so when the time came, you could have something to look forward to and enjoy. The second required a bit more patience: Linhartd had described it as <i>letting people see you. The more you try to hide, the more they’ll seek you out. Let them talk and do their thing while you slowly fade away into the back, and the next thing you know, everyone will be too busy dancing (or drinking) to notice you leave. </i> Perhaps it was not the more detailed description, but surprisingly, it worked; Hubert talked and charmed his way into anyone that came to him, and about an hour and a half later, politely excused himself “for a breath of fresh air”, quietly grabbing Bernadetta’s hand halfway through and pulling her along as they quietly slipped away from the crowd and into the outside.</p>
<p>It was a pretty night. Petra used to say the stars looked the most beautiful by the ocean, but they did not do so bad here in the mountains, either. There was barely anyone around; with no students enrolled yet, any couple looking for stolen moments would have headed straight for their quarters instead of loitering around outside, which made it perfect for a stroll. Bernadetta had walked these paths in the dark so many times she practically had every step memorized, closing her eyes and resting her head on Hubert’s arm while it was wrapped around her waist, holding her close. </p>
<p>They could have gone back to their room right away, but something about having the Monastery gardens all to herself again made Bernadetta want to stay just a little longer. This was a special place even for Hubert, who was to loath to admit to that kind of thought. That had been the unspoken part of Edelgard’s request; she felt guilty about, in her mind, keeping them away from each other with their duties, and this was her attempt at trying to make up for it. It was a clumsy gesture, but still a nice one, and if meant getting all those sweets Edelgard promised, well worth a few hours of discomfort. </p>
<p>The small garden by the stables had been one of the only places in Garreg Mach to not be repurposed in some way. Even during the war soldiers went there for tea, snacks and gossip, a respite from everything else going on in the world. Tonight, it was empty, with only the sounds of faded music filling the air. Hubert pulled up one of the old iron chairs while Bernadetta preferred to stand, quietly humming the notes under her breath.</p>
<p>“Well, that was only mildly disastrous. Between the Fraldarius boy glaring at me through the entire night and the Dominic girl trying to calm him down, I had the slightest feeling I was unwelcomed there.”</p>
<p>“Felix’s not so bad.”</p>
<p>“Forgive me if I do not immediately trust your good judgement, considering your current company of choice.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be like that! And think of it like this way: if people are glaring at you, then it means there’s no chance that they’ll ask you to dance. I was starting to run out of excuses!”</p>
<p>“Or you could have simply said no.” He smirked. “Unless you were waiting for someone in particular?”</p>
<p>“No, that-“ Gripping her shoulders, Bernadetta turned away, not wanting him to see the way she winced. “That would have been rude.”</p>
<p>She shouldn’t have said it like that. Not with that tone. Hubert would catch on right away, like he always did, and then he would feel guilty and sad, and then<i> she</i> would be sad. It was too pretty a night to be sad, especially for such a stupid reason.</p>
<p>Bernadetta did know how to dance. She was a noble, best friends with the Emperor, a general in the army, and yet she did know such a basic thing. There. Done. It was out. The big, big secret. </p>
<p>Father had stopped hiring tutors when she eleven years old, claiming that she had already “learned enough”. He had his own methods of teaching a child what he thought they needed to learn. Everything else after that, Bernadetta had learned from books in her room, not out of a desire to learn, but simply to make time go by faster inside that house. Except dancing was not something one could learn as a recluse, and by the time there were other people around, everyone was too busy fighting a war to teach her. It was a stupid thing to be embarrassed about; Edelgard was afraid of the ocean, and <i>she</i> didn’t stutter and run around every time someone mentioned water. It was stupid, and Bernie just had to deal with it like an adult.</p>
<p>There was a tap on her shoulder. Hubert was standing behind her, offering his hand. His face was stone. “For when you run out of excuses.” </p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>
  <i>Oh. </i>
</p>
<p>Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.</p>
<p>Bernadetta took the offered hand, while his other one settled at her waist. She’d seen this one before; the basic of basics. Hubert was saying something, instructions maybe, but she was too busy paying attention to her feet. There was barely any space to move without bumping into something, so they had to be careful where they swayed, too. The footwork was mostly different from lance training, but there a few things she could imitate to keep herself steady. At least it would be fine as long as she did not trip or step on Hubert’s feet.</p>
<p>Hubert let go, but Bernadetta kept moving, wanting try it by herself. Doing it alone was harder, since you actually had to imagine the other person’s movements on top being aware of your surroundings. The steps were simple and short, yet still challenging enough for a novice; she’d nearly fallen into the bushes on the first turn, but after a few more attempts, managed to ease into the second turn, then the third, and finally the bow after the fifth. Back in his seat, Hubert applauded, making her laugh.</p>
<p>“Impressive. You have quite the talent.”</p>
<p>She blushed, turning her face away. “Don’t say that.”</p>
<p>It had suddenly gotten <i>really</i> warm, and not just because of the exercise. Honestly, what were they <i>doing</i>? What if someone saw them? Just what would they say? That the Minister of the Imperial Household and his wife were skipping out on a party to have a private date in the gardens?</p>
<p>Okay, the last part sounded really nice, but that wasn’t the point.</p>
<p>Hubert probably realized it too, which would explain the weird look on his face. Like he was embarrassed, but happy, but also…Bernadetta couldn’t tell. Figuring out what people were thinking had never been her strength. Thinking everyone automatically hated her and everything she did usually offered some type of foundation, but she couldn’t do that anymore. At least, not with Hubert. <i>Just breathe. Take it easy</i>.</p>
<p>She approached him slowly, hands behind her back. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, I just-“ He put a hand to his face, laughing quietly. “Do you know why I brought you here? Here, specifically?”</p>
<p>“Because…it’s nice?”</p>
<p>“Because it is the place where we had our first proper conversation, and I ended up acting like a fool. Don’t you remember?”</p>
<p>Of course she did, but she hadn’t thought about that in years. It had hardly been the first time she had fainted in front of someone, and it had been her fault anyway for walking around in the dark. “I do, but- “</p>
<p>“I suppose I wanted to…make it up to you. To give you something pleasant to remember.” He smiled. “But I supposed I underestimated your determination.”</p>
<p>So Hubert had been trying to-</p>
<p>And Bernadetta hadn’t even-</p>
<p>“Before you say anything, don’t feel guilty. You were happy, and that is enough for me.”</p>
<p>Bernadetta had absolutely no idea what to say. Here Hubert was trying to do this grand, romantic gesture, and she had ruined it all by being oblivious. Except she hadn’t? She felt happy, and he looked happy, too. It was a beautiful night, they were alone, there was music playing, and she knew how to dance.</p>
<p>She hugged him, burying her face into his chest. “Let’s go back to our room.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Tired already?”</p>
<p>“No. Everyone else is at the party, it’ll be just us there. We can make as many happy memories as we want.”</p>
<p>Strong, protecting arms. A quiet laughter. Warm breath on her ear. “Indeed.” </p>
<p>She took his hand, leading the way. The music got farther and farther away, until the stone walls and heavy wooden doors blocked all sound. The only light source was faded moonlight coming in from the small window, barely illuminating anything. The night was barely getting started, and they were there together, in that special place, with all the time in the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't believe I actually managed to finish this. Thanks to everyone who has read this thing all the way to here!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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